


Wolf Queen

by MissIves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, I use the necessary time skip to not deal with some issues, not betaed but i tried real hard you guys, up to ADWD anyways in a certain way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIves/pseuds/MissIves
Summary: Winter is threatening Westeros, and the Seven Kingdoms find themselves plunging deeper into decay as the previous war bled them dry and the Lannisters keep fighting more wars that they can manage, no one is ready for what the cold will bring upon them. Meanwhile, the North is soon to face dangers stronger than snow storms and treacherous lords. On the other side of the Narrow Sea, the rumours of dragons and their mother become a truth larger than life as their powerful magic is coveted by forces of both good and evil intentions, a burden getting heavier every day for the last Targaryen queen to carry alone as she plans her triumphal conquest.Among this setting, Arya Stark comes back to Westeros, seemingly freed from her chains to the House of Black and White, her hardened soul will have to battle her inner demons as she sets about to care for the kingdom her brother left behind and the legacy her father passed down to her. The daughter of the North returns to her people to become their Princess of Winterfell, their Queen of Wolves.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, fair warning there will at some moment be a mention of jon/daenerys and bran/meera, so if that's not you cup of tea...
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Should not be starting something new but... *puts on clow paint*

The salt could be tasted in the air. Behind her, Tollerys and his crew were happily examining the miserable port. She guessed life was happier once you acquire a ship and can suddenly command your own vessel courtesy of a mysterious girl offering to be rid of your abusive greedy captain. The only price had been that he take her and her people to Westeros. He had refused to take her North, but along the journey she had realised perhaps that was the better way of it. Nothing awaited her in the North but pain, memories, and enemies. Whatever information Braavos had of the North came late, very unreliable, and probably not of much use. Meanwhile, the news from the riverlands, while no less bad, were more reliable.

Next to her, fifty women and her children looked around the small town. One of the women, a leader among them, walked over to her as she braided her blonde hair for practicality.

“What now, cat eyes?

With age, Arya’s lashes had grown dark and long, a black curtain over her steely grey eyes. Amalla, the woman she had once encountered offering herself while sporting a black eye — courtesy of her brothel owner —, called her ‘cat eyes’. The name had stuck, much to her amusement.

“The town is small but could be dangerous. We’ll go near the woods and camp there.” She looked up to the grey skies and felt the cold wind. “You and the children will be fine with that?”

She had stolen some good money, but not enough to get everyone a room. Amalla simply rolled her eyes. “We’re northerners. We can stand a little wind. Here south o’ the Wall you people don’t know cold.”

Arya had not wanted to share much at first, but she had told Amalla she was the last member of a noble house from the North and could offer her some living that was not opening her legs to men for some boss, who took most of the profits, on the streets between the Drowned Town and Ragman’s Harbour. So, it offended her a little to be told she didn’t know cold, but Arya kept her face still and just raised one eyebrow. “We’re camping then.”

They made a bit of a spectacle when they left the port and walked along the destroyed town, but they eventually made it off the road and into the forest. The wildlings seemed happy to be near the wilderness of the trees and rivers, away from canals and fine rich merchants. The women were strong, and a couple years being forced into poorly paid labour in Braavos had not taken away their years of experience living off the land. The only one of their group that was a full Bravoosi was Bero, who admitted herself not much use in the wilderness, but was hardworking and good fun. A singer was never bad for the spirits of a large group. As they set up a camp hidden between trees not far from the town, Arya helped bring water so they could boil some fish bones for broth.

Young Lancy, a pretty girl with red hair and a face full of freckles, walked beside her with a pot filled to the brim. “My mother said we’d work ‘n’ walk less here.”

Arya barked a dry laugh at that. “I promised your mother to work the lands, not _less_ work.”

The girl’s mother, Lancy, had been a good friend of Amalla. Arya had been on the run, dangerously close to death, when Amalla had taken her into the semi drowned old house where Lancy lived cramped with other women and had looked after her. It hadn’t taken long before the woman had spilled her harrowing story; how they had escaped Hardhome only to be made prisoners soon to be sold to slavers, and how the Sealord had ordered for them to be freed without really looking out for them. Half of them working like whores, others in demeaning jobs. Many of them longing for a piece of land to live as they had always lived. When Arya had offered Amalla to come back with her, the woman had asked for Lancy and her girl to come, and so Lancy had asked for another friend to join, and so until she had somehow gathered a whole pack of women and children to return to Westeros.

“Hardhome was hell, dunno why mother wanted to come back.” Young Lancy noted. Arya noticed she had refashioned her Braavosi clothing — less rich than the ones Bero and Arya owned — turning her shawl into a large scarf and the upper part into a useful hood for the winter.

“Because I told her we weren’t going to Hardhome, look,” Arya stopped short and turned to look down at the girl, “I never said to her that life would be easy here. I have no home, no family, only I…”

Arya could live with a Bolton holding Winterfell, there were no other Starks left. Jeyne Poole had taken the name of Arya Stark, but who was that? What waited in the North for Arya Stark? All the effort it would take to win it back, for what? To be alone, living in it like a ghost, while Jon risked his life at the Wall, with her never permitted to go see him? With age, she had come the realisation that her return to Winterfell would only either make her a target for Bolton or a pawn in Stannis Baratheon political desires. _I could even put Jon in danger_. But Riverrun… that was another story. Her uncle Edmure was a prisoner, along with his wife and their babe. If she could get rid of the Freys… she could stay with her uncle, have someone to care for, her cousin. Would her uncle want her? She would not be married off as there would be little political gain in it, and she could only act the part of a lady to an extent. _He'll keep me if I give him Riverrun_ , she thought, he might not believe her to be a Stark but she could still ask to serve in Riverrun, be near the family she had left. And if she could convince him to give these women a place to work…

_The Kindly Man said I had a gift for persuasion… or at least a talent for bargaining. That among many other things._

"You'll care for us," Young Lancy finished for her, shrugging and continuing walking, "that's what mother said."

Arya thought of something equally kind to say, but fell short, finishing the work in silence.

The broth was made as the women silently worked, the children playing games and Arya distracted herself using some rope to make traps. It would be good to have some fresh catch in the morning. They were a strange folk, the wildlings. But every once in a while, their tactics amused her. They were like the common folk of the North, but in exacerbated fashion. They thought of everyone as soft, they were superstitious, harsh with the children but protective too, slightly too mistrustful of others, bawdy and bit wild. Arya felt as if they could become her people… they would never truly know her, not all of her, else they’d never trust a person like her… but they could be her pack.

As Arya looked around at the peaceful women and their children, the wolves howled, loud and strong across the cold night. She closed her eyes, feeling the slightly wet grass beneath her, the smell of trees and earth, she felt something grow within her, a desperate cry, lonely and yearning. How could she be surrounded by people but feel so inadequate?

When she walked up to Lancy and Amara, they shot a confused look at her determined steps and Braavosi clothing. They were all back in furs and thick wools.

“What is it?”

“I need information,” It was the very first thing Arya had learned Braavos, and she knew where to get it, “so I have to go into the town again. You have to stay here.”

Amara nodded. Lancy looked concerned. “Are you sure you want to go alone?”

“It’s best this way.”

Bero nodded at her. "You look too foreign in our clothes; it won't be safe to walk."

Arya smiled at her, winking, she hid her Braavosi dark clothing underneath a normal undyed wool cloak, and made her way back to town.

*/*

Arya supposed a lone young foreign woman in an alehouse asking for a drink could be suspicious, but she figured if the Faceless Men wanted her, they’d not find her near Saltpans soon. It was not difficult to get men talking once she tucked her wool cape under her seat. She took good care of the money, the way she had learned when they made her pass for a scribe in the Iron Bank, but she used a little to fool a young fisher boy into more drinks while she feigned light-headedness with her one tankard. Her Braavosi clothing was dark, and like all clothes from the city, had a beautifully draped look that seemed natural to the fabric even though it really only was the way clothing had been made for years. Courtesans used richer colours and detailed brocades, but for the Saltpans, even Arya's rather simple dark grey clothes and deep blue shawl were enough exoticism.

Even across the Narrow Sea, they had heard of her uncle Edmure’s little girl. It was known that the new member of House Tully had been named to offend the Lannisters and Freys, to show as much disdain and defiance as they could in their state as prisoners. A new Catelyn Tully was now being raised as a ward to a Frey man and a Lannister woman in Riverrun.

“They sent the Frey woman back to her husband, made them both prisoners again. Dunno what for!”

_So she would get with child again_ , Arya though, _and get a new Tully boy and kill my uncle once and for all._ She hoped her uncle would not get Roslin with child again, but her hope was slim. They were prisoners, his family murdered, their promised home taken by traitors and enemies, their one child taken from them. Arya guessed they would find little comfort in their daily life except the carnal type.

It took long for the conversation to go where she wanted. She guessed the young man thought a Braavosi like her would want the most obvious news and went too long explaining things Arya already knew. The House of Black and White had an extensive net of spies and informants, and it was no news to her that Cersei and her daughter Queen Myrcellla were bleeding their coffers dry and plunging the realm into chaos so she could fight the Targaryen man in Storm’s End. Even the common people of Braavos seemed to know more, whispering of strange tales from the North, of a Night's Watch deserter who meant to cross the Wall with an army of wildlings.

"Where are you from?" Arya purred, twisting a lock of hair and giving herself a thick Bravoosi accent. It was a trick she had learnt long ago. In the city's culture, the shawl was meant to partly cover the space between the skirt and the long sleeved and draped upper garment, going up on one shoulder eventually to partly cover the hair. At first, she had found it an annoying display of a carefully designed half achieved attempt of demureness. But it was Bellegere who had taught her. While whores openly showed their midsection and barely used their shawls to cover their shoulders or as aprons to hide their worn-out skirts, the courtesans carefully made sure their locks were covered by the shawl, and so the act of pulling a curl out in flirtation was titillating, very enticing for a man who felt he had to earn the attentions of a sought-after courtesan.

_"Nothing is easier to fool and distract than a man, Lanna. At least if you know the correct tricks."_

"My mother had me in the stormlands, that's down south, even more than King's Landing. But I've been fishing here and there all along the narrow sea, sometimes inland too, finding river fish." He gulped down his ale and scooted closer to her, eyeing the rich dark coloured patterns of her draped clothes and trying to steal a glance of the part of her abdomen left visible between the upper garment and her belt. "Are you a Braavosi courtesan?

_You ignorant fool_ , she wanted to say. Courtesans were rich and would never even set foot in a wretched place like the Saltpans. Arya stopped herself from sliding far away from the man. Courtesans were witty and had the patience to bear with stupid and slimy lovers, all while keeping their beauty and allure. Arya couldn't even withstand the idea of bedding someone who was stupid. But she had been an actress long enough to impersonate a young, apprentice courtesan.

"I worked for one", she whispered, and it wasn't a lie. _All good lies should have some truth to it_ , the Handsome man once told her, so she added some more, "but I angered my employer, so I ran away."

“And you want to live here?” He spat, throwing her a judging look, “in this shit town?”

For a moment, Arya was quiet. All over the port, there were signs of fire, and broken doors and everyone sported haunted looks. In a way she did not understand, the town still smelled of death. The lack of children, all the empty houses, the abandonment… it was a shit town, even as people were coming back to it. Is that how Winterfell looked like, under Ramsay Bolton’s rule? Decay and reconstruction? A burned castle, hungry mouths, misery palpable in the air? Despair stubbornly clinging to its stone walls?

She looked away from him as if she were checking the other men in the room. Then, careful to whisper as if she meant for him not to hear her, she spoke just loud enough for him to listen. "And here I thought I'd find an interesting man with an interesting story to tell…"

"I have an interesting story!" He blurted out, shooting her an eager drunken smile as she looked back to him. She feigned interest. "I stumbled upon her once, Mother Merciless."

He whispered the name with a shiver but failed to scare her. Very little scared her nowadays.

"Who now?"

"They say she wanders the Riverlands hanging people. Say she’s avenging the wrong done to these lands. Most just pray she doesn't find them guilty."

"Where did you see her?"

"I... didn't exactly see her. I went to take a piss while another fisherman in our group went a little further. I heard his scream but there was no one nearby. I had nothing to do but hide while the men took him and beat him. Long time I heard them beating him, only thing he kept screaming was 'why'. But we all know how it is here, any big group with weapons can do what they like deep in the woods, ain't no one can stop ‘em."

The lad took a large gulp of ale, bitterness lazing his voice. Arya waited patiently for him to continue his story, but he seemed lost in his memory of it. She dared put a hand on his shoulder, and only after some gentle caressing did he continue.

"They stopped when I heard a man begin talking, saying that the man was standing before the Lady Stoneheart." The name did not sound familiar to Arya. _It's not the mummers, they'd never follow a woman… the Brotherhood was led by ser Beric, who could this Stoneheart be?_ "I heard a strange sound… I tried to understand because it sounded like words. But I only understood the outlaw. He said the man had been in service of the Freys, one of his men-at-arms… that he deserved punishment. Like us common folk had any choice in who sent us to fight! It didn't matter what he said…. they hanged him right there near the river, so any boat that passed could see."

_A warning, not a bait, which means whatever they’re doing, they’re confident in their reputation_.

Arya gave him a look of concern, and gently took his pint and brought it up to his lips. As he drank, she leaned close to his ear. "I need to piss, I'll be right back", she whispered. He shot her a heavy look, but she blinked at him, running a hand across his back as she moved away and discreetly took her folded cloak. Someone whistled at them.

A few of the men leered at her as she neared the back door, making a show of herself as a slightly drunk woman. Once outside, she sprinted as far as she could from the place, knowing she should put distance between such a group of men and herself. When she stopped, she checked that she had not been followed, and then checked that she had all her hidden knives with her. Saltpans had too many abandoned burned houses and empty streets, plenty of spaces for bad men to hide in the shadows. Covering herself well with her cloak, Arya remained extremely alert until she was finally outside of town. From then on, she walked alone, nature her only companion.

Although it surprised her little that another band of outlaws had started acting in the region, Arya was shocked to find brutality had only worsened in the riverlands. The Freys barely seemed to have a hold on the land, and their desire for a Tully boy only reinforced the fact that they probably needed to coerce the lords into following them now that Cersei needed most of the Lannister army in the south. She became very aware of the dangers she had dragged Lancey and Amalla into.

_What have I done? Coming here was a mistake_.

And yet… when Arya walked the woods, heard the wolves howling and the little creatures of the night doing their activities, she felt belonging that could only be surpassed by Winterfell. She had thrived in Braavos, in a way, and she had learned, in the missions they sent her to over the years, to blend easily into other places. But Arya belonged close to nature, and to the wild animals and the people of the land. She didn't know what attached her to the riverlands… perhaps it was Nymeria, or the faint memory of Gendry and all whom she met here, Hot Pie, Lady Smallwood, Weasel — wherever she might be.

As she stopped close to their camp, a raven flew near her. Arya had dreamt once or twice of a bird talking to her, but she had never felt so keenly observed by one. When it opened its beak, it sang to her. "Home, home!"

She frowned. Her true home was North, it would ache her in that hole she had in her heart for many years to come, never to be filled again. Arya looked at the camp again. When she had told Amalla that she could not bring them North, the wildling had been glad. They spoke tales of monsters, and cold, and death. To them, as south as she could take them, the better. Arya had even considered asking the captain to take them to the east, to other free cities, but she feared the Faceless Men would find her more easily. Besides, they had planted in her the doubt over the Dragon Queen. While she admired her freeing slaves, and the Faceless Men approved, they had filled Arya with their own apprehensions of how safe it was to live under the rule of a monarch who had dragons. In Braavos, the scars the Valyrians caused ran deep, and the general havoc in which Slaver's Bay constantly lived did little to improve the queen's reputation. Arya wished her more success in Volantis, if only out of fondness for the stories of her childhood, of the Targaryen sisters who were as fierce and respected as their brother.

The riverlands were the safest bet yet. She would find a way to her uncle. Help him, make this land safe for these women to find peace. They could be her pack, and she could live easily with them.

Before she could finally enter a tent, she heard something to her left in the woods. Arya stopped and turned to the trees, seeing nothing. But she, who had been blind, knew sometimes there were things that the eye could not see, but you could still find. She made a signal to the watcher, who nodded at her and stayed at the ready as Arya stepped further into the dark dense forest with a knife in her hand.

Her hands in front of her, her feet tentative, Arya walked slowly inside, letting her eyes adjust to the very little light the moon could provide. Despite the darkness, she did not feel afraid. She did not feel herself, but someone braver, fiercer. Surrounded by the ever-growing howls, the moonlight, the smell of trees and fresh soil, Arya felt something inside her being filled. She remembered the crow's singing to her…

The yellow eyes were the first thing she saw. Large, and fierce, and loving, as she remembered.

_Nymeria_.

Arya couldn't even continue to walk towards her, her chest was so heavy, her legs couldn't work. She knelt as she saw the rest of the she-wolf approach. Her eyes closed as she felt the tears start to fall, and for a moment there was nothing except the sound of heavy paws crushing leaves and coming towards her. Then, she felt a warm wet tongue clean the tears of her face, the touch gentle and affectionate.

Finally, her body — trained to perfection to reveal nothing — responded to her heart's true desires, and her arms reached up, allowing her to grip on the fur of the she-wolf. Nymeria whined, letting her gigantic head fall on her shoulder, as if trying to repeat the motions she once did when Arya would hug her little pup affectionately. Oh, but even her head was so heavy now! It pressed on her shoulder like a full week of hard work carrying fabrics among the dyeing pools of the Braavosi outskirts.

"Oh, Nymeria!" The she-wolf was gigantic, just big enough for her to mount. Her fur was of gray colour, shining even in the moonlight. She looked so different and yet so much like Arya dreamt her. "You've grown so much!"

Nymeria sniffed her all over, her face, her hands, her boots, all of her clothes as Arya tried to pet the huge animal as much as she could. So many years had passed and yet it felt like the very day Jon put her in her arms within the warm walls of Winterfell, Arya cooing her pup and hugging her as if she were a doll. It was so different now, it was winter, and it was cold, and instead of the safety of Winterfell they were surrounded by wolves and outlaws and danger. But Arya knew they would be stronger now, together. The raven sang near them, and Nymeria began wagging her tail as if she were an excited dog.

"Home, home!"

Nymeria howled, loud and powerful, making Arya _laugh_ , and then she joined the she-wolf and hundreds of wolves who sang together like a pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse any typos or mistakes. English is not my first language. Do point them out so I can edit and make it easer to read.
> 
> Big apologies for Gendry not showing up yet, It'll take a couple chapters.  
> And yes. 40 chapters. I have... ideas.
> 
> Reviews keep an author alive! :)


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, apologies in advance for any typos or mistakes. English is not my first language.

Whomever said women and children slowed a march had never met the Free folk. Granted, they were not the largest group, but nevertheless the march did not seem to be slower than what Arya believed an army march would be. It was certainly faster than how it had been back when she travelled with her father and the King's entourage. The wolves helped too. They prowled the woods and scared anyone of going near whatever zone they were, making those places safe for their group to move. The free folk were hardworking, strong. The oldest of boys easily carried the most weight to help keep the pace, learning from the few spearwives how to keep watch and defend the group, while the other women and girls quickly organized everything else.

Young Lancey seemed to be the only one truly missing the city.

"I enjoyed Braavos," she admitted to Arya as she helped her clean Nymeria's dirty and matted fur, she was one of the few wildlings who didn't fear the wolf, "I didn't enjoy the shitty rich men but… I enjoyed learning Braavosi, you know? I was already good with the Old and common tongue; it was fun to try to learn Braavosi by listening to the courtesans sing or the masters and wise men discuss at the Moon pool. I liked their singing, and the bickering, and the mummer’s plays."

Lancey looked around to the messy camp, her eyes acquiring a shade of sadness at the gloomy wild environment. Arya thought she was so stupid to complaint… she had her mother, and her people, and served no master. Arya wished she could have had all that at the age Lancey was, the edge of womanhood that was always so dangerous for girls. Arya took notice of her very neat braid, her clothing, and furs more fitted and well-kept than others, remembering the way she helped take care of the broken tents mending things and ordering their belongings. _She belonged in the city… I could try to make her less miserable._

"We can try to find a place for you," Arya looked around camp, at the women living in the harsh conditions with the ease with which they had lived in Hardhome, "this is not the only way of life."

The girl let out an unladylike snort. "Mother said it's best this way."

Arya gave her a crafted sad smile, thinking of anything nice to say. "You can teach me the Old Tongue, and I'll finish whatever Braavosi you still needed to learn."

It was not necessary, and the girl’s face showed it. Their group had a Braavosi among them, Bero. The girl had warmed the captain's son's bed, but much to his horror, had chosen to go with them instead. The girls could practice foreign tongues with each other, but so far Bero was too busy learning to live outside of a city and taking cues from the free folk.

Lancey gave her a queer sort of smile, making Arya feel embarrassed. Her awkward mannerism had more candour than Arya's continuous attempt at being sweet to a girl she seldom understood. "Thank you. I'll go help mother."

Arya remained next to Nymeria, the she-wolf sitting still as Arya petted her and watched the girl walk away, her dark coppery hair shining in the winter sun. "They say she's lucky… and I feel so too," she whispered to the animal, "but I think she's misunderstood."

The direwolf whined and stood properly, making Arya look up. She smiled and nodded as the she-wolf returned to her pack.

They were near Raventree Hall. The last information that the House of Black and White handled said they had been forced to bend the knee, with a son being taken prisoner to Riverrun. It was very uncommon for them not to have the latest information. It was one of the tasks they taught them first, to learn to distinguish what was the truth, how to find it, and how every mission also meant opportunities for one to gather as much truthful information as possible. Very useful information.

_“You’ll learn much by listening, young girl.” The Old Man had whispered as he touched her ears. “Your ears must be to our complete service.”_

Arya approached the walls with Nymeria, less than half the pack of wolves circling her free folk. She loved to be among the pack, but they were not easy to control when around humans. The gates were closed, despite it being the middle of the day. She gripped Needle, willing the small sword to give her courage. _Be courageous, like Robb once was, fighting for these lands_. That thought almost distracted her. She did not want to think of Robb, not really, not even to give herself courage. But he constantly intruded in her thoughts lately, as she travelled the lands he once had to fight for.

"Who goes there?" Screamed the watcher at her from atop a square tower. Arya could not see his eyes clearly from so far away, but she saw the arrows pointed at the wolves, the other sentries occasionally moving their heads to exchange comments.

"I came to talk to lord Tytos!" Arya spoke firmly. "I have information regarding his son, Hoster," she raised her hands, "we carry arms only for protection, we mean no harm!"

There was movement, and a long moment passed before a tall man with a hooked nose appeared. His men stood close to the guard for protection, but Arya heard his murmurs of surprise as he surveyed her, muttering something to himself.

"My name," she announced loudly, "is Arya Stark of Winterfell," her hand moved to lay on Nymeria's side, " I have proof of my identity."

There was a moment of silence. _Old Gods, let him see me, let him see who I am._

She thought she could see a smirk on his face when he finally shouted, "Let her in!"

Arya leaned close to Nymeria, closing her eyes, and whispering to the wolf to push the pack away. She stood as the free folk entered, watching Nymeria will the pack to return to the depth of the woods before coming back to her side. Only then did she finally enter, looking at the spacious muddy courtyard. Lord Tytos approached her quickly, slowing down only as he stole a glance of Nymeria. _This. This is the man loyal to Robb until the end, even after the Red Wedding, even when Riverrun fell._

"Lord Tytos," she began humbly, "I thank you for receiving me. And my companions."

He stood in front of her, constantly shifting glances between her face and the direwolf. “Last we heard around these lands was that an Arya Stark had been wedded to Ramsay Bolton, legitimized bastard of the Dreadfort, and he was named lord of Winterfell due to her claim.”

“An impostor,” Arya spat as she remembered the farse, the rumours of a supposed Arya Stark arriving at Braavos with Stannis Baratheon's men. Those men seeked to depart Essos with a bought army, ready to aid their liege in retaking Winterfell. _Lies and games, all useless._ It did not take much effort to make Jeyne Poole give up the farce, she was already scared and traumatized before a trained assassin bearing the face of the true Arya Stark told her to come clean or she’d pay for her lies. "I have proof of my identity."

"Yes. I spent enough time with king Robb to recognize a direwolf." Something tugged at Arya's insides as she heard someone refer to her brother, and she willed herself to show dignity. "Your direwolf is even bigger than his own."

"Yes. Yes, I know." The direwolf's size and her wolf pack had emboldened her. Before, she had thought to get to her uncle with shadows and disguises, but now… She had spent the last weeks of her journey using the wolf pack to cleanse the poor suffering towns of abusive armed men. Too many deserting soldiers; Stark; Tully; Bolton; Frey or Lannister, had resorted to violence, and now they had become the prey of the pack.

Lord Tytos crossed his arms behind his back, circling around her. Arya stood as tall as possible, and noticed her companions slowly letting their hands get closer to their knives. _We would not win._ She could not let this turn violent. Even if they refused her, she’d just ask to be let free.

"I spoke with your brother often. Perhaps more than other of his Riverlands men… of course, he kept Northerners close. Perhaps… you could name a few?"

Arya knew what he was doing. She did not take offense. She only came to him because she knew of his loyalty. He was being thorough. But she had sat at her father's men with interest and attention. And she had spied lord Bolton's letters at Harrenhal.

"Greatjon Umber, Galbart Glover… Theon Greyjoy, before he betrayed us." Arya could not be so sure about anyone else. "Surely some Manderly son, before being slain at the Red Wedding."

"And his wolf?"

"Grey Wind," she took a deep breath, letting her hand grip Nymeria's fur tightly, "they slain him with crossbow bolts… sew his head to Robb's head."

"And what would you do, if I refused to accept you in my castle and share my bread with you?" His eyes were sharp, but Arya saw no malice in them. No, he had been a friend of the Starks and Tullys, and he would not refuse refuge to her. _He is trying to see what I am made of._

"As long as no harm comes to my people, I would do not damage to you, but make no mistake…" Arya showed him a fierce smirk, "with or without your help, before this winter is over, I will have my justice."

"Lady Arya Stark," lord Tytos took a knee before her, "Raventree Hall is honored to receive the Princess of Winterfell."

*/*

Bero stood next to the fire, naked and wrapped in a towel. She was of age with Arya, her skin dark and glowing, always a smile to her lips.

"I like castles."

"Me too," agreed Young Lancey. She and Arya were scooted together in a giant copper tub, taking off the smell of dirt and sweat, "but I liked bath houses better."

The keep did not have enough rooms for all her free folk, but lord Tytos was chivalrous, and immediately gave her a room for her and her 'handmaidens' — she had snorted at that one—, insisting he'd find suitable arrangements for the rest of her people. Arya stayed long enough to see that such arrangements were provided, even if they were only straw mattresses and old furs in crowded rooms. Lancey and Amalla insisted on no need for luxury, but lord Tyros was attentive.

Arya remained silent as Lancey stepped off the bath, going to stand next to Bero, who slowly put on the clean clothes they were offered. They were beautiful, she realised. Lancey had long dark copper hair in thick curls and her eyes were of amber colour, even in her youth her figure promised to be lean and strong. Bero was breath-taking, her skin a brown with the beautiful tint of red reminding of a perfect blush. The curves of her body seemed as dangerous as the waves; her voice rich in laughter.

Last time Arya was in the riverlands, young women like them would not last more than a day. It was not so different now. Wherever she went, she found scorched soil, towns barely being reconstructed, women and children and frail old men too scared to put up a fight against a band of free women and a pack of wolves. They were in disbelief when Arya and her spearwives offered to help build walls in exchange for food and rooms, even more so when they offered to use the wolf pack to chase away small bands of bandits. The war was supposedly over. Where were lord Tyros’ men protecting the smallfolk? What ever happened to a lord's duties?

Arya exhaled a deep breath as she rubbed her face clean. She stood up and went close to the fire, were Nymeria dutifully licked the water off her leg's skin.

"They brought us dresses." Lacey raised an eyebrow. Arya almost laughed. She enjoyed Braavosi garments but Southorn dresses were beneath her?

"They're not as pretty as _our_ dresses." Bero added, squirming against the simple gown she wore, trying to work in the dark purple of her traditional Braavosi drapes. Lancey stifled a laugh and contented herself with putting back on her furs.

Arya turned to see the infamous gowns. They were not too rich. Green, soft blue or a washed out saffron, made of thick wool, with little adornment other than the seldom raven embroidery, their use was noticeable. She bit her lip. "They mean well, it's what they can offer. I can't go see lord Tytos rejecting what he offered."

Nevertheless, Arya still wore her breeches underneath her dress, and avoided slippers in favour of her worn out boots.

"Will they make my mother and the others wear them too?"

"I doubt it but do go to them and let them know they must not feel forced to use anything they don't wish."

Once alone, Bero spoke softly, her fingers tracing her multiple cuff earrings, the fashion back in the city. "They won't make me change, won't they? I just wanted to see the world… not be forced to…"

"No."

Of this, Arya was certain. She remembered all too well having to travel to King's Landing and feel like all her culture was reduced to being northern savages, too primitive in their fashions, too harsh in their manners. The Bravoosi were the contrary, fond of their songs, their rich dyed clothing, keen on holding on to certain traditions of the original freed slaves who founded the city. She would not make Bero let go of the things that reminded her of home. _We became friends on that boat, somehow._

"Are you sure?"

"Look," Arya pointed to her own ear, to the similar varied silver cuffs there, tired of all this talk of dresses, "I'll keep my own too, see?"

Once she had received a smile, Arya left the room to find lord Tytos with Nymeria in tow. The guards took her to him diligently, lord Tytos awaiting her in the godswood in front of a great dead weirwood tree. Dozens of resting ravens made her feel observed.

“The weirwood is dead, princess, that is why it looks different to the ones you grew up seeing in the North.” He smiled sadly. “Only a painful blood sacrifice would give it back its magic.”

"My lord," Arya came to stand in front of him. Even though she was not as small as she used to be, he was far too tall for her to do anything but crack her neck upwards to see him, "thank you again."

"I told them to bring us some seats," he invited her to sit on two wooden stools, "I'm sorry to demand answers from you, my lady but… my Hoster…"

"Is in Riverrun, my lord." A wave of relief passed over lord Tytos face, and Arya did not have the heart to tell him that was the last information she had come by, some moons ago when she departed Braavos. "You feared for his safety."

"He was not made to fight, my boy, and when I stopped receiving news, I feared he had been slain by the Freys of Riverrun. Or that Jaime Lannister had seen it fit to send him to Casterly Rock."

"My lord, I can't waste time—"

"And you haven't. We have heard the rumours of your wolf pack. You must be wondering why so many of us have let it get this bad."

"It is a lord's duty to protect its people." She was not accusatory, but she expected him to feel some reproach in her stern tone.

"We lost many at the war, and we lost even more in spirit… but more than that… my own vale was left a scorched desert, many towns were burned to the ground… reconstruction, defensive armies, it costs us money we're losing sending tax coins to the Iron Throne." Lord Tytos stole a glance at the ravens, and Arya granted him the dignity to look away as he became visibly vulnerable. "My own father rests beneath this tree, looking at me through the eyes of the gods. I cannot be the lord he was, and I can't be the example I wish to set for my Brynden to follow once I'm gone."

"I wish to take back Riverrun, my lord. I hear my uncle Edmure lives, along with my cousin, and I understand even my uncle Brynden has yet to be declared dead by any Freys."

"I have not much more than twenty men at most to offer you, my lady, and no castle in the region can stand a siege the way that Riverrun does."

"Do you know any other lords that would be willing to give me as much fighting men as they can spare?" Arya's head was running with ideas. "Perhaps anyone willing to follow the pack of wolves that has been cleansing these lands?"

"Yes, loyalty is not lost to all rivermen, but my lady, like I said… the task is impossible.”

“I am Arya Stark,” she repeated with a dauntless smirk, “I’ve survived all Seven Hells. There’s no impossible for me.”

*/*

Lord Tytos messengers departed to a selected assortment of keeps and castles, some of them his liege and some even further away. In the meantime, she rode with him to nearby towns, checking on the ones she had visited before. Lord Tytos was not hated, his people seemed to regard him mostly as despotent, and seeing him optimistic made them slightly hopeful. His son Brynden came to other towns too, eager to fight back the misery that clutched his father’s lands and even more happy to exchange plans to take back the Riverlands.

When they came to a town that had taken its own justice against four former Stark men who now roamed the lands poaching, Arya felt great shame, even more when they saw Nymeria and the prisoners tried to bow to her. Their eyes looked harsh and lost, and the chains in their feet seemed painful.

The villagers were none too happy when they made the connection, thinking she had come to free them. She could see in the eyes of the prisoners that they expected the same. Arya offered them some of her water but refrained from saying any word. The youngest one caught her attention. _He is not older than Jon when last I saw him_.

“What have these men done?” Lord Tytos’ son, Brynden, asked.

“They came and killed one of our own, my lord.” An old man with many lines on his skin spoke firmly. “We won’t let you free them.”

_Wrong thing to say_ , she thought.

“A lord of a land determines punishment against outlaws and criminals.” Brynden spoke again. “If you had come to my father, he would’ve listened.”

“No one listens, no one comes.” The old man looked at Arya stubbornly. “You can’t free them.”

Brynden did not speak more. _He knows when to shut up_. She ignored the harsh tone of the man.

“Why did you kill the man?” She asked the youngest lad. Another one answered.

“He didn’t do it! My son is innocent! It was the two of us.”

“None of you are innocent, you all poached in our farms!”

“Poaching is when you hunt in a lord’s lands.” Bryndon said again. “If what they did was steal from your farms, the punishment has never been death.”

“Why was this man killed?”

“He killed one of our own!”

“Because he caught you stealing!”

“That didn’t give him a right to kill him either.”

Arya spoke softly at first, but when she wasn’t heard, she raised her voice until she was heard. “Stop arguing and listen! Was the entire town in favor of this… punishment?”

“Yes… my lady.”

“That is Princess Arya.” Brynden said, even though Arya shook her head.

“Lady can do just fine.” Arya looked at the prisoners. She looked at their feet, but when the father looked up at her, she saw the silent plea. “All in favor of an execution… even for the youngest one?”

The old man fidgeted on his feet, he avoided looking at her. Arya’s eyes went to the other villagers. They exchanged looks, some shook their heads softly, some nodded stubbornly. Clearly consensus was not made regarding the youngest one.

Brynden was quick to catch on. “We will not interfere with your justice for the two old men. But this is my father's land, and it is him who must dispense justice in the name of the king’s law and House Tully, next time you have need to punish captured criminals, you come to us. No more unnecessary imprisonment for these men. We have good rope among our things. Cut their chains, give them some water, and let us end their suffering.”

“As for the boy,” Arya spoke loudly before any complaints could be raised, “if he chooses to, he can serve and travel with me from now on. Or he can choose to flee this place to his own luck or share his father’s destiny.”

“Go with her, boy!” Said the father immediately, the thin young lad trembling with indecisiveness.

“I must warn you, I do not lead an easy life, and my companions can prove that the road ahead for us will be harsh.”

“We march to war boy, to take this kingdom back and give it the peace it deserves.”

Brynden’s words resonated along the village. Many exchanged whispers and looks. The boy was freed and immediately he hugged his father. Arya saw some of Brynden’s men look for a proper place to knot the ropes. The prisoners were soon freed, water offered and even a last piece of bread. _Compassion can be contagious too, even in the most somber situations_.

The boy came to stand next to her horse as his father and their companions were lined up to be hanged. His tears fell silently as he tried to control his shivering.

“What is your name?”

“Elmund.” He choked out. “Elmund, milady.”

“How old are you?”

Elmund's eyes closed as the first man was hanged. Arya looked ahead and only stole short glances at the lad.

“Seven and ten, milady.” He looked younger than that. Probably underfed for a good couple of years.

“You served in my brother’s army, Elmund? Where are you originally from?”

“I only cooked and hunted for soldiers, milady. My— my father brought me along to the war because we was just the two of us at—”. His words were cut short as another man was hanged and he winced. “At Flint’s Fingers.”

“Listen to me Elmund. I will try to look after you as much as I can. But for now, let me offer some advice.” As the two men on the noose shook and lost consciousness, Elmund’s father stepped forward. “Your father wanted to know you would be safe. And for that he can only hope you’re brave enough to face what’s coming.” Arya leaned her body to the side so she could put her hand on his shoulder. “Look him in the face, cry if you must, but look at him in the eye to let him know you will try to be brave to face whatever life throws at you.”

Arya kept her hand on Elmund’s shoulder as his father was hanged. She squeezed tightly. Death was death, and while the poisons of the Faceless Men had her accustomed to a quick and painless demise, she did not feel the need to look away as the men slowly succumbed to their deaths.

They did not stay long after that. There were still many towns to visit until lord Tytos men came back.

*/*

Elmund was being taught how to wield a sword by Brynden and other men as Arya sat on the edge of the courtyard. Nymeria was hunting, and the other women were busy otherwise.

“If you want to help, we can use more hands to sew padded armour, some are even helping fix chain mail.” Amalla said as she appeared next to her. Arya just nodded. She was used to helping in whatever was necessary. “Why not join them? I’ve seen you practice with that little sword.”

Needle was a bravo’s sword, but it was getting too small for her. Her training and the different jobs the Faceless Men had sent her to had kept her using mostly knives. They were quick, effective, and made to use in the shadow and deceptions the Faceless Men often took part of.

“What are Bero and Lancey doing?”

“Young Lancey is doing what her mother tells her to do. Bero is trying to woo the maester into teaching her to read the Common tongue.” Arya cringed at that. “Yes, I told her you could teach her that but that girl has it in her head that since she’s pretty she can get men to do anything for her.”

Arya nodded, still looking at the way Elmund’s footing was going to get him thrown to the dirt the minute Brynden’s wooden sword connected with his. “Well, some people have that luck.”

“You have luck too, child.” _It certainly has not felt that way in many years_. Nymeria started licking her fingers. Amalla shook her head.”You just have to make it.”

It was some moments after the wildling had left her alone that Arya stood up and walked over to the man. “Enough with torturing poor Elmund. It's my turn.”

The men’s smiles dropped when she grabbed the wooden word Elmund had recently dropped. Even after many years since Syrio’s lessons, her posture was still perfect.

_You are a sword, that is all._

*/*

It was a couple weeks later and with many miles on horseback behind them, that Brynden Blackwood approached Arya as she bit her lip, her fingers shakingly tracing the secret passways of Riverrun that the different bannermen had attempted to draw, willing the map to be burnt in her mind. Lancey was quick to serve him warmed wine. Brynden eagerly took it, stealing a glance at the maps.

“Princess Arya, three more tonight.” He stood up to point out the site of the killings on the map. “That is twenty sentries we’ve killed in eight nights, without counting the other men killed by wolves. The sun is about to set, we must act soon.”

Their group was small, barely the couple of dozens of armed men some six or seven lords could afford to send, and her spearwives. They had travelled fast to Riverrun, all willing to make one last attempt now that the Freys were struggling and the Lannisters were distracted down south. It was their last hope, and that had been palpable in the air as they marched silent and stealthy to the castle. There had been little distractions, to the point where two camp followers had been shooed away.

Arya stood up, ready. “You don’t seem troubled by my plans. Not all men are so at ease with following a woman.” It had been a constant struggle from Raventree Hall to Riverrun.

The Blackwood heir was pensive. “You’ve been hearing the Darry bastard talking.”

“He’s not the only one looking unhappy.”

“Well, he’s an idiot. Me and Piper put him in his place too. Only a blind fool wouldn’t know we were poor and out of ideas until you came along.” He took another sip. “Sure, it would’ve been nice if one of us had rebelled against the Freys before, but I rather follow a woman with courage in an effort to free my liege lord than to keep bowing my head to Freys and Lannisters.”

He spit the ground for emphasis.

“But will he do as I say?” Arya hid her nervousness as best as she could. _I was never a good lady, and now I must make them do as I command._ Arya worked hard to remember the different faces she wore, how she acted different with each of them. She tried to picture herself stronger, like Robb had to be.

“He’s a riverman, through and through. Yours is the blood of the Tullys, of our late King. And our common goal is to free lord Edmure and his family. No prejudice can get in the way of that goal. Your plan is good if it works as you say.”

Arya stood up straight. She patted her well-hidden knives, and the pouch by her hip. “It will. Take my word as a Stark.”

“I do. Even when my father was horrified at putting you at risk, even when some of my men may scorn at secretive strategies, the desire for justice it’s stronger.” Brynden gave a wicked smile as he put the cup down. “You’re ready, Princess?”

“It’s time.” As the man left to gather the others, Arya turned to Lancey. “In case I don’t return…”

“Don’t, please.” Young Lancey looked at her with eager eyes. “We crossed the sea again, we all believe—”

“Lord Tytos gave me his word the free folk would not be considered outlaws so long as they dedicated themselves to obey the common laws. I’ve made arrangements for you to return with Elmund. Your mother, Amalla, Bero, they’re all smart, they’ll adapt.”

“You’re smart too. Be smart today.”

Arya’s smile came unbidden. “That’s actually good advice.”

_I’ve been smart enough to survive so far. That is what they always said in the House of Black and White, that I was smart._

Elmund was outside her tent.

“Well?” She asked as she threw a look at the gathering of armed men.

“From what I hear, many of them seem sceptical of the plan. But they be thinking a battle will come anyways and are ready to fight to the death.”

“That’s all I need. Remember my instructions?” She had prepared him from all scenarios, either her not returning, her lying wounded or him hearing that the battle was won.

Elmund, who finally looked to be growing into the age he was, nodded. “I will look after Lancey, milady. Thank you for… everything.”

“Your father fought for my brother’s army, you were both left stranded after his death, and now you serve me. It is I who must thank you.”

Arya did not bother with words of goodbye. She left him there as she approached the small gathering of lords awaiting to escort her. If they were doubtful of her, they went to great troubles to try to keep their eyes from showing it. The men walked with her all the way to the edge of the water, to a dark, lonely shore. They repeated the place where the watergate would allow her to pass through, the servants hallways she should use, and the best moment to open the portcullis. Only then did Karyl Vance speak.

“This plan is good, but don’t hesitate for a moment to stop and return if it’s safer to do so Princess. There’s no shame in knowing when to decide to fight another day.”

Brynden Blackwood was more optimistic as he took her cloak. “The blood of the First Men will give you strength. The riverlands will belong to true riverlords again.”

“Await my signal,” Arya said as she entered the water. It was freezing cold, but she did not let it bother her, lowering slowly to swim as silent as possible, “I will open that gate for you.”

_Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords._ She repeated to herself, as the cold attacked more of her skin and she willed herself to keep moving _. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords._ Arya heard the wolf pack howling as she approached the castle walls, thankful for the soft current of the river. _Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. S_ he made it to the left side of the Red Fork watergate, and took a deep breath, swimming under the water to find the space between the iron grills. _The man who fears losing has already lost._

After squeezing herself through, Arya found herself in the inside quay of Riverrun, only barely coming out to allow her mouth and nose to take a breath. Then, she let only her upper head out to let her eyes look, waiting until the coast was clear. When she was sure of the guard’s particular pattern of walk, she silently swimmed to the edge where he would stand. Under the water, she pulled out her knife, waiting…

It was when he looked sideways that she gripped the stone edge with strength, pulling herself up and slashing his thigh. He let out a painful gasp as Arya took advantage of the momentum to get out of the water, holding on to him to keep him from hitting the ground too harshly. Her blade was quick to find his neck, keeping herself silent to listen for footsteps of anyone near, but no sound came except the man’s last breaths.

Arya was inside, the first part of the plan was successful. Now she had to do the rest, be fast, silent, efficient.

_Fear cuts deeper than swords._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and for the reviews.


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